Old, Familiar Pages

"Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by."
-Carl Sandburg

There is a battle raging in the sky now: a ferocious storm has descended on us and unleashed a troubling amount of rain. The earth outside my window has turned to mud, slick and treacherous to the poor souls outside.
For comfort when alone, when the lights begin to flicker and blink and the doors rattle, I like to reach out for my books.
Even when electricity has been extinguished and I am in complete darkness, the feel of old, familiar pages puts me at instant ease. By my hand there is an old copy, dated 1926, of Carl Sandburg poems: its yellowed leaves smell of long-ago smoke.
I unearthed the book when I lived in California, when I frequented dimly-lit bookstores and my hunger for reading took precedence over all else.
I suspect that the treasured volume has weathered more storms than its benign appearance would imply. It could be that it was first brought home in happy hands to a humble house in which electricity was a concept for the wealthy, and candles, lanterns, wholesome sunlight were the unfailing tools of the book owner's day.
It was passed on, perhaps, to succeeding generations of readers, or else held hostage in a gloomy attic for half a century before a soul stumbled upon it.
Such books do not need the light of an electric bulb to inspire me. I know the words of Carl Sandburg with my eyes closed:

"It's going to come out all right- do you know?
The sun, the birds, the grass- they know.
They get along- and we'll get along."

The storm will shortly pass, as everything does. I am glad for my books, and for some hot tea and for the prevailing sense of history that puts all mundane worries into perspective.